At the Nag's Head, at Paddock, we found George Mellor, William Smith, Thorpe, Ben o' Buck's, his brother John, Tom Brooke, Bill Hall, and two or three others who worked at Wood's. We had a glass apiece, and we needed it, or thought we did, which comes to the same thing in the end. These new-fangled teetotal fads hadn't come in then, and when folk didn't drink it was because they couldn't get it. Anyhow a glass of hot rum and water, on a perishing night, warms the cockles of your heart, and for my part I should have been well content to stretch my legs before the big kitchen fire at the Nag's Head and caress my stomach with another glass. But George was impatient for us to be off. So we up Paddock, by Jim-lane to the bottom of Marsh. There is a two-storied stone house there looking over to Gledholt, with a mill at the back of it. I knew the owner by sight well enough, a little spindle-shanked man, with a squeaky voice. I had seen him many's the time at the Cherry Tree. Fond of his glass he was, and a great braggart when warmed with liquor. He was a foremost man in the Watch and Ward, and I had heard him boast oft enough of what he would do if the Luddites ever came his way. So I sniggered a bit to myself when we came on to the road in front of the house. The windows were all dark in front. We went up the house side to the mill yard. Here was a door barring the way into the yard. "Give us a leg up, Ben," whispered Thorpe, and over the top of the door he went, dropping heavily, and with a curse, on the other side. "Did ta think aw were a cricket ball?" we heard him say. "Throw us a hammer." Then there was a sharp blow or two, the rattle of a chain, the angry yapping of the yard dog. The door fell open on one lunge, and in we pushed pell mell. We could see a light spring out of the darkness in the chamber window, and we began to bray at the kitchen door. Someone had fetched the dog a crack with a stick, and it had limped whining and growling into its kennel. "Open the door," cried George. A bedroom window was opened about half-an-inch, and a piping voice, all tremulous, faltered, "What mean you, good gentlemen? What is your will? For heaven's sake go away quietly. The Ward are on their rounds. They may be here any minute. My missus is shouting for them out o' th' front window. Go home to bed, good masters, and I'll never tell." "Go stop her mouth, and come down and let us in. Quick now, or it will be worse for you," said George, sternly.